


'Til The Radio Plays Something Familiar

by Alcoholic_kangaroo



Series: Small Town Boy, Going Everywhere [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Cuddle smut, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 07:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14539749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcoholic_kangaroo/pseuds/Alcoholic_kangaroo
Summary: Jonathan is a bit too attached to his little brother.Warning: Set between season 1 and 2 so this is very underage smut. Don't like, don't read.





	'Til The Radio Plays Something Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to apologize for this, but I won't because if I spent all my time apologizing for being a pervert I wouldn't be able to get anything done in my life. You had your warning, this is underage incest.

Jonathan Byers stares at his little brother with a somehow simultaneously distant and focused gaze. As if he were seeing past Will, through him, as if he were invisible. As if he was made of some ethereal material different from his own. As if he were part of a mirage, shimmering in the distance but utterly untouchable.

But that isn't the situation. Not anymore. Will's here, warm and solid. He's not made of air, he's not passing between any invisible curtain. That time has passed. He's returned to them, slightly damaged but still working, like a dinged up electronic device. One that you need to be careful with lest you cause further harm.

The young boy must sense the eyes on him because he turns to glance at his brother over his shoulder. There's a mole on his chest, near his collarbone, and it makes a brief appearance near the strap of the tank top he's wearing. Will smiles, hesitantly, and wiggles around to meet his gaze. His eyes still look sunken in his fragile face. He's like an abused puppy, always flinching at loud noises or sudden movements.

“Did you want to play?” he asks, holding out the Atari controller in his slender fingers. He's playing Ms. Pac-Man and his jerky motion to look towards Jonathan has killed off his little spherical protagonist. Not that he had been very far into his game to begin with; Ms. Pac-Man just isn't his game. Too much intense concentration required for too long of a time. He doesn't like having to concentrate on the screen that long. His eyes dart around every so often, surveying his surroundings. On the watch for something with claws and teeth. He incapable of truly immersing himself in anything.

But he is better with Space Invaders.

Jonathan shakes his head at Will's offer.

“Homework,” he reminds Will, holding up a copy of the novel he's reading for school. _Brave New World_. It's an okay read, but he's distracted by his brother. By the sounds of his fingers jerking the joystick around and the bloop bloop of him dying repeatedly. He knows the sounds wouldn't have distracted him from his reading only a year ago but he's become super intune to Will's actions. He's always listening to him. Always watching him. His damaged little brother only returned to them three months ago and Jonathan finds himself still panicking when he can't find him.

“Alright,” Will concedes. He leans over, his bare knees digging into the shag carpet, and yanks the cartridge from the console before shoving in Frogger instead. They don't own Frogger, he must have borrowed it. From Mike, probably. Maybe Dustin. He's not allowed to borrow games from Lucas anymore, not since he came home with a copy of a game called Custer's Revenge. The boy crosses his legs back beneath him when he sits back once more.

Something akin to fear begins to swell in Jonathan's stomach, raising up like hot gas into his chest, sending his heartbeat out of whack. He uncrosses his legs beneath himself and stands, walking away from the old, worn down couch. His stomach tilts and he feels queasy with anxiety.

He sits back down Indian style on the floor, this time beside Will. His brother's thigh, exposed in Jonathan's old hand-me-down pair of basketball shorts he threw on after school, is warm against his own, even through his threadbare jeans. He smells like graham crackers and Kool-Aid. His lips are still tinted blue from drinking the sugar water. He loves the stuff, he always has. Their mother says he must have been part hummingbird in a past life. Jonathan always preferred the bitterness of tea.

Will leans against him, perhaps unconsciously, and Jonathan turns back to his reading. His brother's heat is as effective as the fictional world's soma. He feels his anxiety levels drop as oxytocin floods his brain. He could become addicted to his brother's presence, but it would be a welcomed dependency.

Happiness chemicals aside, he could go for a heating pad. By the time he flips through another chapter his neck is aching from staring down at his lap. But the heating pad is only for sick days; their mother says they'll break it if they use it too much. He sits up, straightening his back, and hear the vertebrae crack. He raises his arms over his head and windmills them behind himself, letting them drop back at his sides. His shoulders ache.

“When's mom coming home?” Will asks, his eyes still trained on the television. Jonathan looks at his face and sees his eyes are watering. He's focusing too much on the blurry screen just inches from his face. Jonathan is glad he doesn't play video games that often. He'd rather have him safe in Mike's basement, playing with real people and real objects, though he misses him when he's away from home. He wishes they'd invite him to play their games with them, they used to, when they were younger. Nancy too. But now they seemed too “adult” for the kids to want them around.

“Late,” Jonathan responds to Will's question. It's not a surprising answer for either of them. She's been working extra hours. To cover the repairs to the house. To cover the advances her boss had given her. To cover Christmas, and rent, and hospital bills. To make up for the fact Jonathan is no longer working. To pay for Will to have constant supervision. “Are you hungry?”

Will shrugs, but he leans forward once more to switch off the console. “What's for dinner?”  
“Tuna noodle casserole,” Jonathan says, picturing the frozen casserole dish in the fridge.

Will wrinkles his nose but doesn't complain. He knows money is tight right now and that canned tuna fish is cheap. He eats over at the Wheelers a lot, but the other boy had a dentist appointment after school today.

“I can make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead?” Jonathan offers. He wishes he could offer him something better. He cooks a pretty mean hamburger. But the cupboards are all but barren. Will shakes his had anyway, at Jonathan's offer.

“Mom made us dinner, we should eat it.”

Jonathan nods in agreement. He leaves his book on his younger brother's knee when he gets up to fetch the dish from the freezer.

It'll be awhile. Will's sick of playing video games and Jonathan has to resist the urge to fuss over him when he complains his eyes are sore. The younger boy asks if they can go into Jonathan's room and listen to music for awhile, instead. Will has a mix tape of all Jonathan's recent albums but he agrees anyway. He never minds having him in his room.

But the bedroom smells stale and musty. Teenage boy scent, stuffy from months of cold air and closed windows. There's whiffs of body odor, dried semen, sweaty socks, and bodily gases. Will doesn't seem to care, or maybe he honestly doesn't notice. Maybe Jonathan is just hyper aware of his own scents. Will collapses onto his stomach on Jonathan's bed and starts playing with an old Scooby Doo figurine that was lying on the bedside table. Pulling the first album off the shelf, Jonathan slides out a copy of Bowie's _Space Oddity_ from its sleeve and carefully places it on his record player. He stands there and watches it turn, transfixed by the slight rise and fall of the needle. There's always something soothing about it. It reminds him of the tides of the ocean; reliable but always moving, always changing.

They listen in silence. There is nothing awkward about that. They're brothers, they're comfortable with each others presence. Will eventually tosses the figurine back on the table and grabs a notepad he left in here the other day. There's a half finished picture of a person sketched there. Jonathan had picked it up and examined it when Will wasn't around and had determined from the curly hair it was probably supposed to be Mike Wheeler.

Watching him now, standing over him without hovering, Jonathan knows he's right as the boy's face starts to appear beneath his brother's fingers. Wide eyes, overly full lips, a pronounced nose that, to be truthful, Will is dialing back on. Jonathan has a feeling he's looking at what Will sees when he looks at his friend, not what everyone else sees. Not what is truly there. This version of Mike is positively angelic. He wonders how Will would draw him. How does Will see his big brother?

The tip of the boy's tongue is stuck between his teeth and his brow furrows with concentration. So caught up in his drawing, Will is lost in his own world. So much so he doesn't notice Jonathan has grabbed his camera until the flash goes off.

He jumps, startled, and whips around with wide, frightened eyes. Like a scared deer caught in the headlights. He looks like he's ready to run.

But then the tension melts from his body as he realizes what the sound and light were. He mutters under his breath and turns back to his drawing. Jonathan knows Will hates it when he takes his picture, he has dozens of them hanging on his bedroom walls, but they make him happy. They reassure him. When Will isn't here, when he's in his own room, asleep, or when he's at school late, or at a friend's house, Jonathan can lay in bed and look at the pictures of his brother instead. It's not as good as having him here. It's not as good as being able to listen to his quiet breathing. But it helps.

He takes more pictures and Will turns slightly, away from the camera, and Jonathan is stuck taking pictures of the back of his head. He makes do. He focuses on the gentle tilt of his brother's head as he sketches one side of the picture. He captures the scene of him lazily scratching the back of his ankle with the socked toes of his other foot. He immortalizes the angular jaw and delicate eyelashes of his profile.

“Why aren't you hanging out with your friends?” Will asks, still turned with his back towards his brother. Jonathan sets aside his camera and lowers himself carefully, sitting on the edge of the bed, careful to not nudge Will's legs out of the way. He watches him, the mattress reverberating as he swings the leg further away from Jonathan lazily in the air, kicking at nothing. “You don't need to be here, just because I am.”

“I like spending time with you,” Jonathan says softly. He reaches up to brush a few hairs off from over his own eyes. Doesn't his brother know that? How much he enjoys spending time with him? Not that he would say he's his entire life, but he's the most important part of it. He had take his little brother for granted for so many years, not realizing the fact until it was almost too late. “Don't you like spending time with your big brother?”

The boy shrugs. The sharpness of his shoulder blades move beneath the thin white fabric of the tank top. He looks smaller like this, somehow. The flatness of his stomach accentuated as it presses into Jonathan's quilts. Quilts that could do with a washing. He knows one corner is crusty with dried semen from where he was too lazy to fetch a sock or shirt the other day.

“Hey,” Jonathan frowns. He reaches over to touch the small of Will's back. He's warm and Jonathan watches the rise and fall of his hand. More pronounced than the rise of the record player's needle had been a few minutes ago. Inhale. Exhale. Breathing. Living. Alive. Here. “Come on, don't you like hanging out with me?”

Will snorts. He sits up, dropping his pencil in the process, pulls himself onto his knees, and turns. Jonathan catches him as he flops into his lap. Heavier than he looks. Solid. Real. Material.

“You're so clingy,” Will complains, but there's a fondness in his voice and it doesn't stop him from nuzzling into Jonathan's throat. Jonathan holds him protectively, like he did when Will was an overly sensitive and easily frightened toddler. He used to smell like spoiled milk and dirty diapers back then. Now he smells like Jonathan's bedding. He smells like Jonathan. Marked. Like part of his pack, as if they were lions rubbing their scent glands on each others heads.

He gathers the boy up into his arms, collecting his long, thin limbs, and scoots into the middle of the bed. Will wiggles more fully onto his lap, folding his legs in the process, but keeps his head where it is, nose pressed into Jonathan's pulse point. But he moves his hips, scooting closer, his knees digging into Jonathan's stomach.

Will's tailbone is pressing against Jonathan's crotch. It's mildly painful.

This isn't something they discuss outside of this room. Jonathan's need to be so constantly close to his little brother. Will's need for physical affection. His need to feel protected and safe and loved. Despite everything they've been through, their ordeals, they're still young men and young men do not discuss their weaknesses.

But today there is a new weakness.

It isn't immediate. It's several minutes before Jonathan is even aware of it. He holds Will close, rocking him and running his fingers through his hair, and he feels content. He hums a tune deep in is throat. It's familiar but not immediately discernible. Something from his childhood, he thinks. Maybe something their mother used to sing to him. It's comforting. He feels like he could die right now and he would have no regrets in his life. He isn't thinking anything inappropriate, he is not thinking of anybody but his brother and how much he loves him and how happy he is to have him here with him. But once it happen it is impossible to ignore.

Jonathan has never become hard before while holding his little brother in his lap. He's not sure why he has become aroused so suddenly. Maybe because he didn't come home and beat one out today, like he normally does after school, because he's been with Will all afternoon. Maybe it's just the smell of the bed, the stinging linger of his own cum in the air. It can't be because of the smell of his little brother's soft brown hair or the pressure of his tiny bottom cushioning the head of his cock.

He stills. He stops rocking Will, stops petting his hair, and concentrates on trying to make it go away. But he can't concentrate hard enough. He's still humming but it doesn't sound rhyme. Sweat beads on his upper lip. When he goes quiet, all he can concentrate on is the familiar sound of Will's breathing in his ear. His mother had once told him that she could recognize her own son's breathing and Jonathan realizes, suddenly, that he can do that as well. If his eyes were closed and somebody was to walk up to him and suddenly start breathing in his ear he would know it was Will.

Will might be the only person in the world who he could recognize by the way they breathe.

The boy stiffens in his lap, as if sensing something. Reluctantly, Jonathan goes to pry the boy off of him, reaching behind his own head to untangle the arms from around his neck.

“Not yet,” Will murmurs, his arms tightening around Jonathan. His fingers dig into the messy locks of Jonathan's hair, as if he's trying to stop himself from being forcibly pulled away. The roots strain against his scalp, pinpricks of pain that do nothing to weaken Jonathan's arousal. Will is all skin and bones these days but the lean muscles on his arms are distinct beneath Jonathan's fingers. Tense, hard. “Dinner won't be done for awhile, please, just a little longer.”

Jonathan doesn't respond. He shifts, subtly, trying to displace the curve of his brother's firm behind pressing against him. He isn't subtle enough. Will feels the movement and adjusts as well. Sweet, accommodating Will, adjusting his own position because he's probably afraid of hurting his big brother. Jonathan bets he thinks that his knobby knees are digging in too deeply today, as they have in the past. He unfolds them, they're as long and gangly as a newborn colt's, and sits back down on Jonathan's still folded lap. One leg on each side of his own thighs. He can get closer now and the boy's chest feels bony against his own.

Jonathan swallows. His heart is beating hard in his chest. He wonders if Will can feel it. He hopes he can't. He can feel Will's heartbeat though, steady but just a bit quick. Jonathan learned in school, back in seventh grade bio, that smaller animals have quicker heartbeats. Does that go for smaller humans as well? Is Will like a mouse, his heart thumping away at a faster rhythm than an adult's? A normal adult's anyway. Not when that adult is reacting to some sort of strenuous activity. Not when an adult is running or trudging up five flights of stairs. Or when a boy in his late teens is getting aroused by the feeling of his brother's fingers entwined in his hair. The feel of pronounced rib bones against his own chest.

But if Will notices the rapid thudding in his chest or the heightened intake of breath he doesn't mention it. His breath feels damp on Jonathan's throat. It still smells sweet like sugar.

His cock is fully hard now and he feels it distinctly, throbbing in unison with the pulse in his throat. The same spot where Will's nose is pressing against.

David Bowie's voice has stopped filling the crowded bedroom, he realizes suddenly. He doesn't know when the music stopped. It feels like he just put it on. This is a good excuse though, he realizes, as he listens to the fuzzy sound of the record spinning endlessly. A good reason to get Will off his lap. He might even be able to excuse himself for a minute to use the bathroom. He's hard enough he could be quick about it and Will would probably just think he had to go number two.

“Get off,” he jokes, trying to shake the boy off with a jerk of his shoulders. “Come on, I need to change the album. And I need to take a piss. I'll let you pick the next one.”

Will makes an annoyed sound in his ear, but the grip around his neck finally loosens and Will sits back. Just a bit, enough that Jonathan can see his face, anyway, though his arms still hang loose on his shoulders. He looks at his older brother, head tilted just a bit to one side. His hair, soft and tousled looking, hangs down against his shoulder.

“You're just trying to get rid of me,” he accuses. As if Jonathan hadn't just been the one complaining about Will not wanting to spend time with him. “It's because I'm a freak now, isn't it?”

“Don't be stupid,” Jonathan scoffs, brushing off the comment with faux nonchalance. “Your scrawny ass knees just pressed against my bladder. Let me go to the bathroom then you can go back to crawling on top of me like a baby monkey.”

“Okay,” Will relents. He pulls back and wobbles up onto his knees. “If you promise.”

“I promise,” Jonathan swears. And he'll keep the promise. Once he's back from the bathroom his little problem will be gone and he'll be happy to cuddle with his baby brother.

Will nods and scoots back a couple inches, which should be a good sign, but then he stops. His face scrunches up for a fraction of a second, and then his lips part. Jonathan inhales shakily and tries to pull back. His dick, which is now leaking from the feel of it, is sandwiched between his brother's parted thighs. And he knows Will can feel it now, because he looks down between his legs as if trying to confirm something.

“Are you...are you hard?” Will doesn't look disgusted but he does look perplexed. His eyebrows are drawn together as if he's concentrating on a difficult science problem.

They're both guys. It's not like that doesn't just happen sometimes. But he doesn't like how those words sound coming from his little brother's lips. It's too obscene. Jonathan isn't sure what word he would have preferred? Something juvenile like asking if he has a boner? Hard sounds too sexual. Too mature. The word makes Jonathan's mouth go dry.

But he can't just not respond. Well, he could, but that would just make it more awkward.

“Told you I have to piss,” he says, rolling his eyes. Trying to make light of the situation.

“Oh,” Will blinks, then shakes his head. He climbs off of Jonathan's lap completely and leans back onto his calves beside him, waiting for Jonathan to get up. Which he really should do but he's oddly frozen now. Terrified, like a baby gazelle hiding in the grass. He doesn't want to give his brother a show by standing up and exposing his erection. “Sorry. Um, yeah. I mean, it's okay, right?” Will's face has gone pink now, cheeks especially flushed rosy red. “It happens, right? I mean, it's no big deal. Do you, uh, do you want me to leave you alone so you can, uh, you know?”

Jonathan closes his eyes and breathes loudly through his nose. His brother, his innocent, naive little brother, is asking if he wants to be left alone so he can jerk off. He shouldn't even know what that is! Except Jonathan knows he was already doing that by Will's age. He had his first wet dream at the age of ten and seeing as they share some genetics that means Will has probably had them for a couple years as well. But does that mean he's already taking a more hands on approach? Probably.

“I'm fine,” he says, opening his eyes once more to look at Will. The boy's mouth looks tight with worry. As if it's his fault that his brother popped a boner in front of him. Okay, yes, it is his fault, but he shouldn't be aware of that fact. “It'll go down when I piss.”

Or when he splashes some cold water on it, because he knows now he won't be able to take ten minutes in the bathroom without Will knowing exactly what he's doing in there.

“I could, uh, I could help?” Will offers, biting at his lip. Jonathan stares at him, aghast, and Will quickly lowers his eyes. They look guilty. The same eyes he used to give their mother when she caught him smuggling sweets from the kitchen before dinner. Deceptively puppy-like. “It's, it's something Mike and I do, sometimes.”

Mike? And Will? Help each other out? What does that even mean? Hand jobs? Is that what boys do together these days? That most certainly wasn't how Jonathan was spending his pre-teen years, but Jonathan had always been a loner. Maybe that is what boys do when they get together in their bedrooms with the doors locked. Or is there something more between those two? He hasn't mentioned Dustin or Lucas in this context.

“Here,” Will says, suddenly leaning forward. Jonathan leans back but he's not quick enough. Will presses his hands against his thighs, steadying himself. His hands feel warm. They burn through Jonathan's jeans and against his skin. “Come on, I'm good at it. Well, Mike says I am anyway.”

“Stop it,” Jonathan catches his wrist in his hand. He has such small, bony wrists. His grip is too tight and Will winces. The pain on his face makes Jonathan release his grip, guiltily. “I don't care what you do with your friends but we're brothers.”

“What's that got to do with anything?” Will asks. He's rubbing his sore wrist with his other hand. A ring is already starting to appear there of red flesh. It might bruise. God, don't let it bruise. It'll kill Jonathan, looking down at his brother's wrist and seeing his own fingerprints burnt into the skin. He's supposed to protect his brother, not hurt him.

“Brothers aren't supposed to see that part of each other,” Jonathan says softly. He reaches back for Will's arm, holding it still with his left hand while he gentle massages the bruise with the thumb on his right. His skin is soft and pale from a long winter. Something almost supernatural about it. As if Will were part fey. “And they're most definitely not supposed to touch it.”

“There's a lot of things I'm not supposed to have seen or touched,” Will responds darkly. He shakes off Jonathan's grip and reaches for his crotch again. Jonathan doesn't push him away again but he watches horrified as the small hand rubs the bulge in the denim. Then he closes his eyes because yes, it does feel really, really good, but he can't be seeing this.

He hears his zipper sliding down before he realizes what Will's doing, then he feels a damp, clammy hand wrapping around the base of his cock. The dry scrape of his pubic hair against denim puts his teeth on edge. His jeans are too tight for Will to do much more than grasp him and the teeth of the zipper scrape against his shaft painfully. His cock head feels trapped as it twitches beneath his brother's palm.

“Come on,” Will insists, shoving lightly at his shoulder. “Lay back and pull down your jeans, I can't do this if you're sitting here with your legs crossed.”

“You shouldn't be doing this at all,” Jonathan replies weakly. But he lets Will's soft nudges push him onto his back. He rests up on his elbows so he can watch him. Will tugs at the waist of his jeans, pulling them down to his thighs along with his boxers. He's fully exposed, the skin of his thighs standing out starkly pale in contrast to the dark redness of his cock. The head shimmers in the light, slick with precum. It's a vaguely sickening sight.

“Oh, wow,” Will breathes. He's straddled Jonathan's legs now but he's just looking down, not touching anything. His lips are parted in fascination. He seems to blink slower than usual, his eyelashes lingering on the curve of his cheeks. “It's really big.”

“I'm pretty sure it's average,” Jonathan says, uncomfortably. He's lounged back in an unnatural position and his voice sounds strained. He's not trying to be falsely modest or anything, but he's seen pictures in magazines and the other boys in the locker room. He's definitely smaller than the ones in the magazines but he's pretty sure those are supposed to be bigger than average.

“It's bigger than mine,” Will says, his voice still in awe. “And Mike's.”

“You guys are twelve,” Jonathan says, stating the obvious. The fact feels heavy on his tongue and leaves him with a dirty taste in his mouth. His lips feel greasy, as if he had been eating bacon or fried chicken.

“Mike has hair,” Will says, looking up towards Jonathan and sees he's watching him. He flushes, which is absurd. Will was just staring at his erect cock and now he's blushing because he's looking at his face? He's looked at his face for years. But it's different now. He has a nice face, really, very delicate and vulnerable. “Mike's pretty big too.”

“Well, he's bigger than you,” Jonathan says, his voice coming out stilted. The Wheeler kid is build like a giraffe, all long limbs and little else. He struggles to come up with something else to say because this situation is really fucking awkward. But it doesn't matter because the next sound that comes from his lips is a moan as Will's fingers curl around the shaft of his penis.

“Good?” Will asks, smiling proudly. He tightens his grip a fraction then moves his fist up, then back down. Then he moves it back up again. “You're all wet,” he observes, rubbing his palm over the head quickly. When he moves his fist back down he smears the shaft with the pre-cum. The grip feels slick now, better. “And really hard.”

“No shit,” Jonathan pants, watching the hand on his cock. The fingers are so small. Nothing like the long, thin ones he's imagined holding him before. And there's no nail polish. Just ridiculously short nails nearly bitten to the quick, some dirt lodged beneath them. He isn't going to last long.

“Oh, I know,” Will pulls his hand back suddenly, just as Jonathan feels himself pulsing in his touch, and Jonathan groans in frustration. “Here, we don't do this often but, well, I don't know if its normal. But let me know if you like it.”

Will drops onto his hands and knees over his lap and grabs the base of his dick with his opposite hand, using his right hand now to support himself. He lowers his head and Jesus Christ!

Jonathan's never had a blowjob. He's imagined getting them plenty, right here in this bed, but he's never gotten further than second base with a girl. And he most certainly never imagined his first experience with oral sex would involve his little brother. He grabs at Will's head without even thinking, digging his fingers into his hair. Will makes a surprised noise but doesn't attempt to pull away. He opens his mouth wider and takes more of him in. His tongue laps at the head, teasing the piss slit then encircling the head itself.

“Suck more,” Jonathan pleads, using all of his self control to not just shove his little brother's face down onto his dick. This is all wrong. He needs to protect Will but instead he's got his cock in his mouth. He should be able to be rough with somebody doing this. He should be able to grab fistfuls of long, perfumed hair and thrust up and not care because it's just some girl and they like dominance. He should be able to be selfish in this act and not be terrified of hurting his partner.. But he can't be, because this is Will. His little brother. His fragile, damaged little brother. Who feels so hot and good around his dick. “Please, more...yeah, that's good.”

Will pulls back until only the tip of his cock is still in his mouth, his hand moving along with his head, the ring of his fist pressing against his lips. Then he presses back down. His cock feels soaking wet now and Jonathan watches transfixed at the spit matting his pubes as his little brother does his best to fuck his brother with his mouth. Jonathan knows some girls actually swallow guys cocks, forcing them down their throat, past their tonsils, but Will isn't attempting to do such a thing. He might not even know that's a possibility. But Jonathan doesn't want to gag him. Not will, he'd do anything to protect him. And what's it matter? Just the image of Will's mouth full, lips stretched wide around his shaft, is enough to give him masturbation material for months. Saliva drips down his bottom lip and chin, foamy and white.

“Feels good,” Jonathan moans softly, starting to just press up the slightest bit with his hips. Not forcing Will, never that, but letting him know he's in need of more friction, needing to do something besides just lie here. Will makes a happy whimpering noise in the back of his throat and sucks harder. He twists his grip around the shaft, as if trying to give him an Indian burn but not in a way that hurts. The friction feels good. “So...good. You're such a, a good brother. Best brother in the world.”

Will moans at the words, as if being complimented on his dick sucking abilities is the best compliment a twelve-year-old boy can receive. His eyes tilt up to meet Jonathan's and that's it. Looking down at his brother, his mouth full with his cock, his eyes so full of trust and love and admiration...Jonathan cums. He doesn't even have time to warn him. Will pulls backs some, but not completely off. He continues to jerk at Jonathan's cock, milking him through his orgasm, his cheeks puffing out as he accepts the load in his mouth. Jonathan closes his eyes, no longer being able to stand the sight, but Will doesn't let up. He continues to stroke him, continues to suckle at his softening penis. It's painful, the over stimulation. Jonathan opens his eyes again and tells him quickly to stop, tugging at his hair to pull him back. Gently. Oh so gently.

He slides his lips carefully off Jonathan's half-hard cock and sits back, lips tightly closed. Jonathan watches him swallow once, twice. A third time. He licks his lips and swallows again. His throat jumps, the faint outline of his Adam's apple appearing. Jonathan doesn't realize he's reached out until he feels the boy's throat moving beneath his fingers. He grips his thin throat lightly, nowhere near hard enough to choke him. Jonathan finds, absurdly, he suddenly wants to kiss his brother. He watches his lips, swollen and glistening.

“It's stickier,” Will observes. He swallows again. “It feels like it's stuck in my throat.”

“I'll, I'll get you a drink of water,” Jonathan says quickly pulling back, already climbing to his feet. He feels unsteady. His head spins.

“No!” Will grabs for his hand, pulling him back down. “You promised you'd let me get back in your lap.”

“You still want...? I mean, after that? You don't feel...?”

Will shakes his head. He's still holding Jonathan's hand. Jonathan takes a quick glance at Will's crotch, wondering if maybe he needs something from this as well, but he doesn't see any signs of arousal in the loose shorts.

“Please?” Will asks again. His eyes look dark, his lips pouty. Like the lips of the girls in the magazines Jonathan reads. “I just want to be close to you.”

Jonathan pulls up his jeans, tucking himself back out of view, but doesn't bother to button them back up. He adjusts himself, laying back against the stack of pillows resting against the headboard, then holds out both arms for his little brother. Will's body feels like its on fire.

When Joyce returns from work several hours later, she finds a cold casserole still in the oven and her sons asleep in each others arms. She smiles when she turns off the lights.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I continue this? Do another fic entirely? Delve into Mike/Will? Or just shoot myself?


End file.
